Returning to the visit with Lincoln at Springfield on the day of his nomination, Mr. Volk says.  “The afternoon was lovely—­bright and sunny, neither too warm nor too cool; the grass, trees, and the hosts of blooming roses, so profuse in Springfield, appeared to be vying with the ringing bells and waving flags.  I went straight to Mr. Lincoln’s unpretentious little two-story house.  He saw me from his door or window coming down the street, and as I entered the gate he was on the platform in front of the door, and quite alone.  His face looked radiant.  I exclaimed:  ’I am the first man from Chicago, I believe, who has the honor of congratulating you on your nomination for President.’  Then those two great hands took both of mine with a grasp never to be forgotten.  And while shaking them, I said:  ’Now that you will doubtless be the next President of the United States, I want to make a statue of you, and shall do my best to do you justice.’  Said he, ’I don’t doubt it, for I have come to the conclusion that you are an honest man,’ and with that greeting I thought my hands were in a fair way of being crushed.  I was invited into the parlor, and soon Mrs. Lincoln entered, holding a rose-bouquet in her hand, which she presented to me after the introduction; and in return I gave her a cabinet-size bust of her husband, which I had modelled from the large one, and happened to have with me.  Before leaving the house it was arranged that Mr. Lincoln would give Saturday forenoon to obtaining full-length photographs to serve me for the proposed statue.  On Saturday evening, the committee appointed by the convention to notify Mr. Lincoln formally of his nomination, headed by Mr. Ashmun of Massachusetts, reached Springfield by special train, bearing a large number of people, two or three hundred of whom carried rails on their shoulders, marching in military style from the train to the old State House Hall of Representatives, where they stacked them like muskets.  The evening was beautiful and clear, and the entire population was astir.  The bells pealed, flags waved, and cannon thundered forth the triumphant nomination of Springfield’s distinguished citizen.  The bonfires blazed brightly, and especially in front of that prim-looking white house on Eighth street.  The committee and the vast crowd following it passed in at the front door, and made their exit through the kitchen door in the rear, Mr. Lincoln giving them all a hearty shake of the hand as they passed him in the parlor.  By appointment, I was to cast Mr. Lincoln’s hands on the Sunday following this memorable Saturday, at nine A.M.  I found him ready, but he looked more grave and serious than he had appeared on the previous days.  I wished him to hold something in his right hand, and he looked for a piece of pasteboard, but could find none.  I told him a round stick would do as well as anything.  Thereupon he went to the wood-shed, and I heard the saw go, and he soon returned to the dining-room (where I did the work), whittling